


Crooked Heartbeats

by baeberiibungh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Depersonalization, Disassociation, Gen, John's A+ Parenting, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse, Pre-Series, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Abuse, derealisation, lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/baeberiibungh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets raped. This is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Heartbeats

Dean stepped into the motel room, looking and smelling like the succession of motel rooms he had been through all through his life, like fake lime, wet towels and stale air, filled with perhaps thousands of farts and cum splashes. That was something Sam had once said to Dean as he had tried to talk about the relentless exasperation he had felt for their nomadic lifestyle, living on the road and letting the road live on in them, no home to speak of, no destination set, and no one missing them anywhere. Dean had ended up taking Sam out for a movie and then a long drive after to the nearest museum and Sam had been happy by the end of the day, but Dean had always remembered what Sam had said.

Now, Sam was on his way to be a hot shot lawyer, his dad had finally taken the out of not having useless little Dean tag along with him needlessly as he went on hunts and monster killing sprees all on his lonesome. And here Dean was, limping into a cheap ass motel room, his clothes torn and bruises and cuts decorating his body and face. His lip was cut and was still dripping blood and his eyes shone with fever, that Dean tended to by gulping a few pills to take care of everything. He went to the bathroom, washed everywhere, not seeming to be aware of how roughly he scrubbed his skin, trying to clean everything off him, all the dirt and the sweat and the things that had happened to him just hours ago.

Dean rubbed his skin raw and still he felt unclean, as if still bearing the marks from before. If possible, he wanted to get everything off, just slake it off like dead skin. He scrubbed some more, the skin looking raw and about to bleed at some places by the time he was done. Dean rubbed the towel over him vigorously, pulling gasps at the pain of the rough towel over his skin. He came out of the room and threw the towel away before sitting on the bed. The TV was off and Dean though that maybe he should put in on. There is a ringing in his ears, something that is sweeping higher and higher and he can still hear the occupants of the room next door and yet.

When Dean comes to, because he completely fugue over, he was on the floor, still naked but with the thin blanket pulled off his bed and surrounding him as he banged his head into the wall by the bathroom. Dean was suddenly aware as to what he was doing, he knew that he was hurting himself but that self awareness did not stop his movements but carried on the bang bang bang on the wall while his eyes blurred. Dean realized he was crying as well, sobs trying to slip through the slit of his pressed lips as he sought to break the wall before him with his head. Dean knew that he all these, but they didn’t really compute to him, didn’t translate into an important enough of a fact so that he would stop it, so that the pain he was feeling could be stopped on hin own prompting.

Then next time Dean is aware again, he is lying on the dirty carpet, something sticky on his face and his eyes swollen. There are emotions rushing inside him, inner voices telling him how it was his fault and how it was not his fault and how he should have stopped it and how he couldn’t have stopped it and so on and so forth, the latter voice getting smaller, like something was squeezing it till all that fills Dean’s head is the knowledge that he just got raped. There is surprise there, profound shame and an insane amount of anger, all directed at himself. He was a hunter for god’s sake, a trained hunter, one of the best and still.

Sure, they were army men, older and strong and hard hands and eyes. They had called Dean ‘pretty’ and ‘pet’ and ‘slut’ and Dean had writhed between them, pain pulling out screams from his bashed mouth as the three men did as they wished with Dean’s smaller body. He knew that people could hear him, was hearing his shouts to stop and his begging ‘please’ at them but no one came, and after they were done, they had just thrown him away like a piece of rag and Dean had somehow pulled himself up and limped back to the motel he had been staying at, thanking god in between hitched breathes and hisses of pain at every step that he had the key in his hands.

Something had torn down there when Dean had gingerly there, the pain a good enough an indicator, but the blood that had smeared itself into Dean’s hand even more so another. He had cleaned it as well as he could, thankful for the fact that at least they had been wearing condoms of nothing else. Their touch had felt equally damning and Dean didn’t want to remember it. He tried to get up from the floor onto the bed, but he was shaking, shaking and shivering and his teeth clattered in brutal clicks against each other so he gave up on that and just lay there, just closing up bit by bit, the pain and the hurt getting covered behind hands over his eyes.

Dean wakes up next morning to his mobile beeping. He is not shaking anymore, but he doesn’t feel anything else either. It’s John, calling about a hunt and the backup he needs. Dean answers by rote, his hands writing down everything in a small notepad, everything filtering through him so that he is not even sure what he is actually being directed to do. But he mimics well enough from what he thinks he did before and John does not sound like he suspects anything. Dean puts his phone down and then notices that his stomach rumbles in hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. But John had called for him. He is supposed to go.

Dean starts shaking again, his phone still in his hand and he fights the urge to call Sam, to hear his voice as he hiccoughs. There are no tears, nothing in him, but he hiccoughs, gasping and shaking and then he slowly and steadily packs up his few belongings and steps out of the tiny little room. He feels fain and he can start that numbness and nothingness coming again. Next thing Dean knows, he is in the car and driving and maybe he should feel scared, maybe he got a concussion, maybe he is unraveling, maybe he is possessed, but those are considerations for another time, disregarding the pain lacing his the lower part of his body how he is feeling both hungry and nauseated. 

His father had ordered him for backup and Dean has to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Still hate John. Unbetaed. Thanks for reading. Comments and Kudos please


End file.
